


Soliloquy

by ILUCIDA



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Eremika - Freeform, F/M, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25793704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ILUCIDA/pseuds/ILUCIDA
Summary: After all, a condemned man has only his own thoughts.
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83





	Soliloquy

You are a condemned man.

Your days are numbered — and you silently count them — as it run through your fingers.

Your future is the same as that of all those who crawl on the scaffold.

But you still look at her with ambitious eyes when she turns around loosening the collar of her blouse after an exhausting day working under the sun.

The short hair slackly attached exposes the delicate skin of the curve of her neck. Nothing escapes hunger with his eyes dancing under her chest. Not the sharp outline in the fine cut of the fabric, nor the undone button that suggests the curve of her breasts. 

Right now, you don't reason like a man waiting for death. No, at that moment you are just a man and look away when you realize that she is staring back at you as if she were just waiting for what you had to say, oblivious to all your despicable thoughts.

You should ask her to come down to dinner, but instead complain that her hair is still damp. The way she was tired she'd probably catch a cold from falling asleep without drying.

You don't wait for answers and take the towels. She concedes watching you untie her hair through the dressing table mirror. You slide your fingers through the thick, black strands. It were bigger than usual, you had suggested cutting to avoid incidents, but Mikasa had become careless.

The false illusion of peace that she had experienced in the last few years has made her lighter, carefree.

There was a part of Mikasa that had settled for the promise of peace. After all, she never stopped being that peaceful girl from the mountains that Grisha would like you to meet, and as such, she was receptive to the volunteers, easily integrated with them, and clung to the hope of a peaceful resolution that the trip to the Continent represented.

She no longer lived in constant anxiety and concern for your safety.

And it was good to see her like this.

She was entitled to a quiet life, without the constant fear of the enemies that surrounded her — and you would guarantee a future in which she no longer had to worry about it.

You are in no hurry, appreciate the softness of the hair while rubbing the towel for each strand. It had no particular smell, just what you, from the height of your refinement and keen senses, would classify as _clean_. A fresh and pleasant fragrance. Totally Mikasa.

She relaxes under your touch and you brush her hair with the certainty that she would doze off if you didn't remind her of dinner.

When you finish eating she falls asleep in the living room, sitting under the settee with her head hanging down to your side.

After all _you are family,_ the person she trusts most.

She is loyal, careful and gives you a gratitude you never asked for. However, her affection was never related to the kind of interest you looked at earlier.

Yet those indecorous thoughts crawl into bed with you when you lie down and think about her.

You are a disgusting bastard but you still want her.

Every night you imagine what it would be like to touch her, kiss her, relish the softness of her skin, take her.

Your thoughts are dirty, and you even try to push them away, but you give in to it because you know it's the only way you could have her.

The other day she greets you with one of her rare smiles and gives you space to sit beside her.

There is no remorse when you accepts her attention.

There never was, was there? You've gotten used to all the little kindnesses and cares like a spoiled boy who feels entitled to complain if he doesn't get what he's always been given willingly.

You are special to her and you know it, although you don't understand why.

All the insinuations they make about you are wrong, and even aware of it, your vanity feeds when you see her pass over some of her admirers without giving even a second look.

Yes, Mikasa is very beautiful, and you are not the only one who noticed this fact. The eyes of almost all men of your age turn to her at least a second time in contemplation, but she has never reserved any of them less than indifference.

So when she lays her hand on your shoulder last night together in Marley, you accept her attention without remorse, not the smallest of it.

Then you're convinced that your mission is the focus. Yes, you are obstinate, from here there is no looking back, but she is everywhere. Like a disdain of some god, there is no way to take her away from your mind, and you welcome her with despair.

You transport yourself to her every night.

That's just how you can have her, isn't it?

What awaits you on the path of violence you have chosen but death?

The least you can do for your sanity, and by definition, for the security of the mission, is allow her to wander in your mind.

The only place you can be with her, and you are not at all scrupulous in the ways that your desire reaches her.

Only in your mind you can kiss her, and you kiss. She asks you to touch her, and you touch, open your blouse and delight in the sight that you would never have. You lose yourself between her breasts, suck, mark and she calls your name, whispers, moans and shouts to give her everything she wants. And when she spreads her legs you taste it. Your name on her lips sounds like a prayer and you answer her not like a god but a devotee paying a promise. So you've possessed her in every way.

With all the hunger you've kept to yourself. In your mind you are allowed to eat her from behind as you cling to the dense threads of dark hair and she screams for more.

When you are satisfied you wake up to the reality of impossibilities.

In one of your futile attempts to understand her, you go to Zeke and his words do not bring the comfort you expected.

_"I've got four more years to live at most"._

That was the disdain of fate.

You're nineteen, but you'll never be thirty.

You're just a case of what can't be.

She'll be someone who might want to hold her hands and go all the way.

Someone will, and must be content with it, or go to the grave with this unhappiness.

After all, you are a condemned man.


End file.
